


Idolatry

by ExordiumNoctis



Series: The Hermit & The Sun [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, Intimacy, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Strange body fluids, idolatry as a form of affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExordiumNoctis/pseuds/ExordiumNoctis
Summary: Osiris/Theron.3,014 words.Heavily NSFW.





	Idolatry

**Author's Note:**

> These are in no way in chronological order, i'm just trying to lump all my pairings together.

He is draped against black cotton, a pillow propped under his neck so that he can watch the way Osiris paces the floor. He’d been working on something beforehand, something important, but Theron can’t quite remember what it was. The smell of woodsmoke is heavy in the air, same as the musk that clings to Osiris’ robes and Theron feels he could become drunk on it.

Osiris’ hand against his thigh startles him. He meets his eyes, vibrant blue against deep brown and it stirs in the young Warlock’s stomach.  
“I’ve kept you waiting. My apologies.” 

Theron laughs then, something light and warm about the way it rattles his ribcage and Osiris removes his headdress to shake dark coils free. The sunlight catches the strands, orange and red and blue reflecting against the waves from the glass chimes strung from the ceiling. He looks like a God, something from a Golden Age tale and Theron finds his voice against the nerves. “I hardly hold a monopoly on your time.” 

The bed creaks under Osiris’ weight. Theron likes the way it dips beneath his knees, the way it slopes his body toward the Vanguard. “Perhaps not, but it would be rude of me to invite you only to ignore you in favor of work.”

His palms grip Theron’s knees then, nails digging into the pads before sliding upward. “I take it you have something on your mind.”

Osiris only laughs, hunches his shoulders forward and he bites the divide between Theron’s thighs. His breath is warm even though the fabric of his greaves and it takes everything in him not to cry out. Instead he finds purchase in the collar of Osiris’ robe and it slips from the larger man’s shoulders with startling ease. “You’re exquisite.” 

“So you keep telling me.” There’s mirth in his eyes and Theron savors it, drinks it in like he soaks in the scent of the room. “At this rate, my ego is going to swell.”

“It’s certainly not the only thing.” Theron nudges Osiris’ thigh as the Warlock moves up his body, delighted at the heavy bulge against his leg. “You’re holding back.”

“I want to savor this. We so rarely get away from our obligations.” Theron watches Osiris’ hands slip under his collar and his robe falls onto the bed in a whisper of fabric. “Patience isn’t exactly my strong suit.” 

It isn’t until that moment that Theron realizes the window is open; the City breeze caresses the now-bared skin of his chest and he shivers against it. “It’s going to be a cool night.” 

“I’ll keep you warm.”

His fingertips are calloused but Theron arches against them, the lines of his ribs under his skin stark in the dim light of Osiris’ room and he offers a whine when lips meet flesh. First it is his collarbone, and Osiris lavishes the area in pecks and nips before his lips wander down to the jagged crescent scars above his abdomen. They are still fresh, barely healed and pink against the sun-kissed tan of Theron’s skin but Osiris presses open-mouthed affection across them anyway. “You are so beautiful.”

“Ah… That tickles.” His hands dip into Osiris’ hair and he pulls him upward, taking his mouth captive for a kiss. Osiris returns it eagerly, and when he breaks away to catch his breath Theron whispers into the crook of his jaw. “I want you.” 

A beat of hesitation passes between them, silent save for the heavy rise and fall of their breath in unison. The air feels static against Theron’s skin and this time when Osiris kisses him it is with urgency. His hands wander lower, across the scars and his abdomen, and his greaves give way to the mastery of the Vanguard’s fingers. Cool air against hot flesh sends a shiver through Theron, and he moans quietly into Osiris’ mouth. 

“Do that again.”

Theron starts at the demand in Osiris’ voice. “What?”

“I said, do that again.” This time it is punctuated with the press of Osiris’ fingers against the slick heat of his core and Theron’s voice echoes off the thick walls of the room as he cries out. “Mmm, just like that.” 

“Osiris–” His voice is barely a whimper and Theron curses how easily he’s brought to this. “Please…” 

“Anything for you.” Osiris’s lips brush Theron’s temple but the contact is short lived. He extracts his hand slowly, agonizingly so, and then he removes himself from the bed altogether. Theron watches his clothing follow, eyes tracing the lines of Osiris’ body as each layer is peeled away, and the desire that pools in the base of his stomach is almost painful. 

He stammers. “Light above, you’re…. Perfect.”

“Flatterer.” 

Again Osiris’ weight shifts the bed, Theron’s body dipping closer to him and the Warlock cups his thighs in his hand. He leans across the space, and Theron hears the distinctive sound of pooling liquid. When Osiris readjusts, he runs a slicked hand across his own length. “You’ll have to be patient still.” 

“That’s cruel,” Theron breathes, but he smiles up until he feels the damp press of Osiris’ cock against his ass. 

“Relax.” Theron ruts before he is lifted away and the smaller Warlock whines. “You’re not ready.” 

“I can take it.” 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I want to savor this.” 

He opens his mouth to argue again but Osiris presses his fingers into him and Theron clenches tight around the slick digits. His front is welling, dripping wet with desire but Osiris is particular on nights like this. It drives him insane. 

He is slow, laborious as he stretches Theron, his face a mask of concentration and thinly-veiled restraint. Theron can tell his resolve is wearing thin by the crease of his brow and he bucks his hips against Osiris’ hand in an effort to shatter the Vanguard’s will. It draws a hiss from Osiris, and Theron swears he can taste his frustration when Osiris kisses him once again. 

“… You’re impatient.” He draws away and Theron leans into him, chasing his mouth, desperate for the contact of his skin any way he can get it but Osiris simply spreads his fingers more, massages against his walls and grins at the way it makes Theron whine. “It will be worth the wait. This is harder on me.” 

“S–somehow I d–doubt that…” 

As if to prove a point, Osiris brings his free hand down to where Theron’s right is clenched in the sheet. He untangles it with the patience his Vanguard status has no doubt earned him, lacing their fingers together and guiding it down toward his own arousal. He is hard, and when Osiris presses Theron’s hands to his skin the younger Warlock feels the shudder that courses through him.  
“Do you know how difficult it is to restrain myself when I have you spread so eagerly before me?”

It’s a half hearted apology but Theron gives it anyway, fingers curling around his cock. “M’sorry.” 

It doesn’t stop him from parting his legs further, or from rutting down onto Osiris’ fingers. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, boy.” 

Boy. It brings heat rising to Theron’s face, a deep flush that spreads across his cheeks and down his neck, coloring his chest and Osiris bends to follow the line of his throat with his lips, fingers dividing his muscles once more before finally, agonizingly retreating from his body. 

He whines, but Osiris kisses him to still him. “Put your arms around me.” 

His fingers unclench from where they were held onto Osiris’ cock and he does as he’s told, drapes his arms over Osiris’ shoulders and hooks them around his neck. It chases away the space between them, their chests pressing flush together and Theron steals another kiss while he has the breath to do so.

“I love you.” It is a whisper to Osiris’ cheekbone and he doesn’t respond, instead lifting Theron’s weight effortlessly in his hands and guiding his body until he is poised above his cock. Theron feels the press of it against his entrance, the muscles clenching in anticipation. Again, he breathes, “I love you.”

It is only pressure at first, the insistent press of the head of Osiris’ cock against his ass but it quickly becomes sharp and Theron hisses through his teeth. Osiris slows, watches his face with that unreadable concentrated mask and when Theron’s brows relax, he begins pushing again. 

Theron wants to whine, wants to drive himself down on Osiris but he knows even in the lust-filled haze of his brain that there is a reason for this. 

With Osiris, there is always a reason. 

When he is finally sheathed completely, Theron feels him shift, feels the soft cotton of the pillowcases against his shoulder blades as Osiris lowers him to the bed. He keeps his hands hooked under Theron’s knees and he savors the calloused roughness of his fingertips in the bend of skin, a stark contrast to the gentle insistent press of Osiris’ hipbones into the curve of Theron’s rear.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

Osiris’ question is sudden, and there is something about the way his eyes seem to take in all of Theron that makes his chest ache. 

“More than anything.” A pause. “I love you.” 

Theron watches the way his mouth screws into a smirk before tightening into a line, the way his brows crease and then relax. He sees a hundred different things in Osiris’ face, but what the older Warlock says, Theron does not expect.  
“And I you, Aelius.” 

He barely has time to register the words before Osiris’ first retraction. He slides out slow, but there isn’t hesitation in the way his hips snap back against Theron’s ass and he whines, high and throaty, into the thick air of the room. This only seems to spur him on; the next thrust is quicker, more rough and less restrained and Theron can feel everything and nothing at once. His skin seems as if it is on fire, the breeze from the open window catching it every now and then and making him shiver even through the waves of stuttered breaths and desperate pleas for Osiris to please take him faster, harder, deeper. He always obliges.

He arches forward and Theron grips the back of his neck, drags him down into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss. He is desperate to feel every inch of Osiris, to taste him in tandem with the rhythm between their bodies. He smells like a fire, like woodsmoke and sunlight and sand. Everything about him makes Theron want him that much more. 

His hands shift and he lifts Theron, taking a different angle as he slams into him and Theron cries out his name. It is loud, echoing above the salacious sound of skin against skin and out over the City. He wonders idly in the back of his mind if the marketplace hears them, hears the prayer of Osiris’ name falling from his lips with reckless abandon and it is enough to drive him to a sharp peak. 

“Osiris– I’m–” 

He doesn’t wait for permission. He can’t, not with the vicious rhythm Osiris keeps and Theron curls his toes against his back as his orgasm washes over him. Everything tightens, his breath erratic and Osiris allows him to ride it out as he wishes, holding fast to his hips. His hands are desperate as Theron reaches out for him, tries to drag him closer and when he finds the skin of Osiris’ throat Theron finally offers up a noise of apology. 

Osiris hushes him. “Hold on to me, little bird.” 

Theron obliges, almost desperately so, arms and legs wrapping tight around the Warlock. He doesn’t know how Osiris manages to keep his composure, and almost envies it. 

This time when he picks the pace back up it builds slower. Theron is tender, overstimulated but he clings to Osiris in spite of it, refuses to let him go even though his head is dizzy. Osiris returns to his rhythm with Theron whimpering against the shell of his ear, and it is a defeat in its own way when he cries out after chasing his own release. He spills into Theron hard, rocking him into the mattress as he arches over him and again Theron is calling his name like gospel. Nails leave long red tracks down the older Warlock’s back but he doesn’t seem to mind, instead busying himself with biting into the exposed flesh of Theron’s neck to quiet his own voice. 

Time seems to still around them. Theron can hear the evening bustle rising into the room with a startling clarity but it seems a thousand miles away. Osiris’s breath evens out against his collarbone and for a moment Theron relishes in the heady scent of sex mixing with the incense Osiris had lit earlier. 

When Osiris moves to pull himself free, Theron grips his biceps. “Not yet… Please.” His voice is small, full of desperation and it surprises Theron how raw it sounds. 

He chuckles. “Alright.” 

Osiris curls him to his chest before rolling onto his side. Theron’s leg is pinned beneath his ribs but he doesn’t care. He’s never felt closer to Osiris before, wants to savor the way he can’t quite tell where Osiris ends and he begins. “Are you sore?”

Concern laced with exhaustion coats Osiris’ words and Theron smiles, presses his forehead lazily to the curve of his shoulder. “No. Content. Warm.” 

“Mm, good.” A pause, and quietly he confesses, “I don’t want this to end.” 

“You sound afraid.” Osiris tries to laugh but it sounds hollow and Theron tilts his head back to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

He offers a contemplative hum and it hangs in the air between them like a swallowed promise. “Everything is going to change tomorrow.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t worry yourself with it. You need to rest.” Osiris cards a hand though Theron’s hair but the smaller Warlock brushes it away, suddenly full of concern. He props himself up on an elbow. 

“Bullshit. What aren’t you telling me?” 

“It’s not as if I’ve been keeping secrets.” His brow furrows and Theron hates the tone in his voice. “The Speaker thinks i’m a threat to the safety of the City. There’s sentiment among the Vanguard that I’ve become unhinged, obsessed with the Vex to the point of being dangerous.” 

“They can’t touch you.” 

“He has backers in the Consensus now. By this time tomorrow, I won’t even be here.” 

“And how do you know that?” Theron can’t help the shake in his voice. 

“Because I’ve seen it.” There’s a finality to Osiris’ words that freezes Theron to the core but he doesn’t ask how.

Silence, now, permeating the space between them and making it feel miles wider than it is. Theron drags his hand up Osiris’ back, twists his fingers into his hair and presses his mouth against his jaw. “I’m going with you.” 

Osiris jerks him away, holds him at arm’s length and there’s a warning in his tone. “No. You still have much here.” 

“I have you.” Theron frowns. “Without you, there is nothing here for me. I go where you go.” 

“You’ve already decided.” 

“You won’t change my mind, either.” 

Osiris sighs, presses his hands to Theron’s back and pulls him against him once more. “I know there’s no arguing with you when you get like this.” He sighs and it hangs heavy but somehow seems lighter than before.

“Don’t act like you aren’t relieved.” 

“Selfishly, I am. I still believe there to be much here for you. Where we’re going… It won’t be an easy life, but I won’t abandon you either. If you’re so set on this–” 

“I am, Osiris.” Theron cups his face between his hands, forces the Vanguard to look into his eyes. “I’ll be at your side tomorrow, whatever comes. I love you more than anything in this world, even the Light.” 

“He’ll accuse you of heresy.” 

Theron laughs. “Heresy. If loving you makes me a heretic then I’ll gladly accept the moniker.” 

“I worry you confuse love with idolatry.” 

The words sting and Osiris realizes too late. “Then you lied when you reciprocated, earlier.” 

“No.” 

“Don’t accuse me of not knowing my own heart, Osiris, unless you do not know yours.”

“I do.” His voice is sharp, defensive, and he mirrors Theron’s expression almost perfectly. “If you would take me as your own then I would do the same. But I won’t be the cause for your downfall.” 

“You think me that weak?” 

“The world is much more cruel than you know.” 

“So protect me, then, if you’re so fucking worried.” Osiris crushes Theron against him suddenly, fists digging into the smaller Warlock’s spine. 

“I’ve upset you, and for that, I am sorry.” 

Theron pushes himself away enough to look him in the eyes. “Osiris, I choose you. In all of my lifetimes, in all of the possible universes, I’d choose you. Why does that scare you so much?” He deflates, anger seeping away and replacing itself with exhaustion. “Is it so wrong that I want to be with you?” 

Osiris wrings his hands in the sheet, drags it up over both of them and offers a defeated sigh. “No, Aelius. It is not. I am not afraid of your heart.” His thumb traces the line of Theron’s tattoo, down over his brow and he moves his hand to gently close the smaller Warlock’s eyes. “Rest now. We have much to contend with tomorrow, and I will need you at my side to face it.” 

“Swear to me that you won’t leave me here alone.” 

This time Osirs doesn’t hesitate. “I swear it.” For a moment he is silent, and when his voice rings through the room again it is barely a whisper. “I am yours, if you would be mine.” 

Theron takes his fingers, presses them to his mouth and kisses the tips of each one. “Until my final death.” 

“Then we face this future together, whatever comes.” 

“Whatever comes.”


End file.
